


Who Will Watch the Watchers?

by gremlinquisitor (suchanadorer)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 18:57:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17310095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/gremlinquisitor
Summary: She curses Alistair, even as she weeps for him, proud and unsurprised and furious at his sacrifice. Never did he learn that he loved the Wardens more than they would ever love him. This, too, will be forgotten in time, just as their deeds at Ostagar and Fort Drakon have been consigned to history. More will always be demanded of them.





	Who Will Watch the Watchers?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyriumlovesong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumlovesong/gifts).



“Warden-Commander Cousland.”

It’s a title that doesn’t carry as much weight this far west. Eorryn hasn’t been making use of it, so when someone calls out from behind her, that alone is enough to give her pause.

She turns back to see a red-haired dwarf materialize out of the crisp edge of a shadow, and she has to bring a hand up to shield her eyes from the sunshine that bounces off the scout’s armor.

“Yes,” she replies.

The scout steps forward, slips a fat envelope out of her pocket. “A letter for you. From… Sister Leliana, she said to say.”

Eorryn takes the envelope and turns it over in her hands. There are two wax seals - The Inquisition’s, as well as Leliana’s own. This is not the same agent who sought her earlier.

“What does it say?”

The scout take a step away as if startled, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I haven’t read it.”

“But you know what it will tell me. I heard it in your voice.” She moves to the side, angling them both away from the sun, and it’s there on the scout’s face as well. She has kind eyes, this one, and she knows it, too, Eorryn thinks, watching as the scout looks away.

“It’s not my place, ma’am. But… I am sorry.” She pauses, takes half a step forward and gestures towards the letter. “I grew up outside Redcliffe. I… I remember you. I know what you did, what you all did. Lots of people don’t, but…” She nods a little, almost to herself. “I should go. But I just wanted to say thank you, too.”

Her smile fits her face poorly these days, with too few opportunities to use it, but she tries, giving a little nod. The farther she is from Ferelden, the less important people consider her to be. Out here, it’s as if every one of them thinks they could slay an Archdemon. There’s comfort in it, in a way, but it’s left her ill-equipped for these moments, when they arise.

She lifts a hand in thanks and farewell to the scout, who turns to slip back into the shadows.

“Wait.” Eorryn moves forward to catch her, but the scout stops, looking over her shoulder. “How long?”

“Three weeks. You’re a hard woman to find when you don’t want to be found, Warden-Commander. I… wish I’d found you sooner. Goodbye.”

She watches until she’s sure the scout has gone, then turns on her heel and hurries up the street, returning to the library she’d left moments ago. Had it only been moments? The encounter had been brief, but already she feels her world slowing, tilting on its axis, her equilibrium lost.

The letter will not contain good news.

The librarian lifts his eyes from his scroll to regard her, not even bothering to nod as she rushes past him to the room she’s more or less commandeered. Her title doesn’t hold the power here that it would elsewhere, but there are few who are interested in his collections, so there had been space enough for her to set up a temporary base, with a cot in one corner and a desk covered in books and parchment and beads of candle wax.

She closes the door and leans against it, fighting against the fear that rises in her throat. So often they’ve had setbacks, not least this recent turn that sent Alistair underground. Of course he wouldn’t use his own seal on a letter that could be intercepted. How clever, then, of Leliana, to use her own instead.

She slices through the seals with her knife and unfolds the papers. There are fewer than she expected, but the pages are sturdy, meant to withstand time and weather, though now they tremble like leaves in her hands.

_Warden-Commander Cousland,_

_Eorryn, my dearest friend. I am so sorry--_

There is a smudge in the word, making the last letters almost unreadable, and somehow it is this, knowing that Leliana cried, that breaks her. She slides down the door, her legs unwilling to keep holding up the weight of her sorrow as she reads on.

She curses Alistair, even as she weeps for him, proud and unsurprised and furious at his sacrifice. Never did he learn that he loved the Wardens more than they would ever love him. This, too, will be forgotten in time, just as their deeds at Ostagar and Fort Drakon have been consigned to history. More will always be demanded of them.

She knows the name Hawke from other letters, the death of Anders and destruction of a city in the Free Marches, an ancient magister locked away by blood magic. Why should this Champion deserve to live, over the man who helped her stop the Blight? Eorryn’s hand held the sword, but he too was a part of it, with a ritual that ensured that she would be here today, that they could have a life together. Again, a sacrifice, this one never spoken of, wrapped in darkness and carried away as soon as the Archdemon was defeated.

Some part of Alistair lives on, then, in Morrigan’s son. The thought is pale and weak, and she doubts she’ll ever see the boy again, but it offers her something to cling to as waves of grief wash over her. It is enough to calm her so that she can return to the letter where it’s crumpled in her hand.

The Grey Wardens will be in ruins after what happened at Adamant, that much is clear from the letter, though Leliana offers few details beyond the Inquisitor’s choice to have them aid their cause. She had not known Warden-Commander Clarel well, politics and geography keeping them separated, and it seems that it was just as well, given all that has transpired. But now they are leaderless, unlikely to listen to what they will see as foreign intervention from Weisshaupt.

The realization settles in her, a bone-deep ache that stills her nerves and offers a grim sort of resolve. _She must go back._

“I don’t want to.” She whispers it into the empty room like a petulant child as she curls in on herself, resting her forehead on her knees. She hadn’t wanted to leave her father either, hadn’t wanted to go into the Wilds, hadn’t wanted to fight an Archdemon.

Damn him for leaving her to do this alone! Didn’t he know that the only thing that made her a leader was that he was always right behind her?

The sunlight through the high window of the room darkens, turns golden and fades as she grieves, by turns sobbing until her throat aches and staring numbly into the middle distance, memories replaying in her mind. She holds the letter close to her heart, rereads it, curses the Maker for His vile sense of humor only to beg His forgiveness, to please, please bring him back.

Her body aches when she hauls herself up from the floor, using the edge of the desk as support. The map she’d set out earlier mocks her now, Grey Warden outposts marked in red ink. She sighs, giving the letter one last read before folding it carefully and tucking it into the satchel alongside all the others - love notes, correspondence from Leliana and Zevran, missives from Weisshaupt. She’s never thrown any of them away.

Eorryn hates that she knows she can do this on her own. Alistair had always believed in her, even when she didn’t, and that sustains her still. She will fix what is broken in them, for his sake, for this myth that he so loved. She will save them from themselves, and from the Calling, and perhaps that will be enough to buy her some peace.


End file.
